I walk the old streets and realize
they tore down the Endicott Theater
to put up a savings bank
in the same space where Poppa and I
saw “Blood and Sand”.
And Fat Tony’s Luncheonette
where we’d stroll for a Mello Roll
or a Charlotte Russe after;
and Poppa is long gone
as well as my nine year old self
never to be seen again.
Which is why I admire those poets
who, whilst in exile
revealed the transience of life
so much better than I,
recalling in deep melancholy
what was, but is no longer seen.
Cranes flying o’re the Forbidden City
the gates of Kiev, Krakow or Jerusalem
a street in Homs or onion domes
they would never see again
walking on a warm Summer’s evening.
.
———————————————-
Lovely and gentle. My blood pressure is back to normal again ….
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Good! Too much angst is not good for your health!!
Regards from Florida.
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Beautifully written; beautifully played; beautifully sang.
I forget more than I remember; but sometimes I, too, do remember people I loved and who are gone.
Into exile, indeed..
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I am lucky that most of my memories still have substance. Those gone can be imagined, and others may be seen again one day. I don’t envy those who leave everything behind.
Best wishes, Pete.
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